Tomorrow Will Be Kinder
by The Queen in Black Veil
Summary: Life as a citizen of District 12 begins with confusion and it only gets worse. [OC Self-Insert]
1. Chapter One: A New Day

_Title:_ Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

_Summary:_ Life as a citizen of District 12 begins with confusion and it only gets worse. [OC Self-Insert]

_Rating:_ T for Teenagers

_Genre:_ Action/Adventure/Friendship

_Main Characters:_ OC [Laurel Duncain], Haymitch Abernathy, Effie Trinket

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own anything, except the OC's.

_Author's Note: _This idea has been bugging me endlessly for the past months and I don't know exactly how but last night I found myself writing and finishing two chapter, well most of the second chapter I finished today and I already have an idea for the third one. If I keep going at this rate I'll probably finish this. A first for me, that's for sure. Anyway, if anyone still read this notes, please try the story and tell me what I should improve...besides my dialogue which is kinda lacking here.

* * *

**Chapter One:**

**A New Day**

* * *

Some days it's harder to get out of bed than others. This is one of those days when I wish I could throw the cover higher over my head, burry my cheek deeper in the scratchy pillow and get a few more winks. But I usually don't get to sleep until late, I'm awake an hour or two before the sun is up.

Today is no exception to the norm.

I prop myself on an elbow, throw the covers off and swing my feet on the cold floor. In the grey light of the morning I search for my hide boots and take out the patched socks I leave inside, pull them on then slip the boots before rising to my feet.

Across my bed, grandmother sleeps soundly, her chest barely moving and if it hadn't been for the ground-shattering snores you could've taken her for one of the dead.

Here in the Seam where people die young, grandmother is something of a rarity, at her seventy something years. Her skin is like bark, deep wrinkles that pull downwards, thin, snowy locks she keeps hidden underneath a black scarf during the day, but that surround her head like a halo at night. She looks like an ancient, tree wraith.

I bend down, kiss her brow, the pungent smell of her skin assaulting my nostrils, and move to the table between our beds where I keep a basin to wash myself every day. Although baths are rare around here I try to keep myself as clean as possibly. I wash my underarms, between my legs and dry with the small, off-white cloth next to the basin then move to the dresser.

I pull dad's canvas pants on and fasten a belt to keep them up, tuck the hem inside my boots and lace them up. Shrugging out of my flimsy nightgown, I search for my tank-top and button-up shirt, put them on and leave the matchbox bedroom for the somewhat bigger kitchen and living room where Dad sleeps on the couch.

In front of the mirror he shaves, I tie my hair in a low bun at the back of my neck, then pick my forage bag and throw on the hand-me-down jacket.

Ever since Dad lost one of his legs in a mining accident, nearly seven years ago I found myself in the position to have to provide for my family. Grandmother was too old to do much and the first few months that Dad recovered from his injury he was barely here. If it hadn't been for Mr. Everdeen's kindness we would've starved.

I step out of our tiny, squat house and move towards the Meadow. The usually crawling streets are empty, the shutters pulled down, not an uncommon sight for a reaping day.

My house isn't very close to the Meadow, but I don't mind the walk. The week before the reaping day is always trying and hard on the nerves.

Somewhere between the edge of the Seam and the Meadow, I'm joined by a small, thin Seam girl. She nods at me in a greeting and keeps walking towards the fence, quick and precise. She's not elegant per say, but she's sure of herself and it shows in her gait, in her gestures. Katniss is her name and she is Mr. Everdeen's oldest, as well as my _milk-sibling_.

When my mother left Dad for the man she'd been cheating him with since they married, she left me behind too. I wasn't older than a few weeks and wouldn't have survived if Mrs. Everdeen hadn't offered to be my wet nurse. Add the fact that if Mr. Everdeen hadn't thought me how to hunt I'd be dead again…Well, I owed the Everdeen's a life debt.

That Katniss and I are _milk-siblings_ doesn't really mean we're best friends, though. Despite the debt I owe to the Everdeen's, I wasn't much around after Mr. Everdeen's death. I helped now and then, but not as much as I could. I shared some game with them, but food wasn't the only thing they needed and I had my own family to look after. It was ugly of me, but this is the world we live in.

When we get near enough to touch the high chain-like fence topped with barbed wire loops, Katniss stops moving. She listens intently for the possible humming of electricity that would tell us whether it's live or not. Like most days it's not and she moves to the bushes that hid the loosened part and our door to freedom. Like dogs, we crawl on our belly to the outer world and for a few hours we are free.

As soon as we're surrounded by trees, Katniss retrieves a bow and a sheath of arrows from a nearby hollowed log and waits for me to climb a tree, a few feet away, to retrieve mine. We've been silent so far, our minds fixating on the reaping that's to come.

"How's Prim?" I ask, fumbling for a topic

"Still sleeping at this hour."

And that's it for conversation at least until we reach the hill Gale waits at. By then we've shot two squirrels and found a thicket of raspberries bushes, although there were barely enough for a pouch. Gale is sitting down, his own bow, a gift from Katniss, next to him.

"Morning Catnip, morning, Laurel," Gale grins as he shows us his package of rabbit jerky "Look what I've got."

Katniss smiles, for the first time in a long time, the freedom of the woods relaxing her somewhat as she kneels next to Gale, swinging her bag on the ground, "Prim left us cheese."

"And I got us bread, well what we call bread." I shrug

By then the sun had started raising, splashing the sky orange, yellow, purple, violet and blue and on a whim I leave Gale and Katniss to ready our breakfast while I pick wildflowers to match the sky's colors. It makes for lively bouquet and wistfully I hope for many more mornings like this.

Sometimes it's hard to remember what it used to be like before Panem, before the Hunger Games. Most days I can even ignore those _daydreams_, too busy scavenging for food, taking care of my family. Sometimes it's even harder to remember that I'm not Laurel Duncain, but there are moments when I close my eyes that I can perfectly recall a different life. A life where the Hunger Games didn't exist, where in fact nothing but books on a shelf. But I can't think like that, not today. Not when everything is so vivid, so real that it leaves a bitter taste at the back of my throat.

"Happy Hunger Games," I mutter and turn back to Katniss and Gale who've started eating without me "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

* * *

A dozen fish, one rabbit, five more squirrels and a bag of greens later we're finally set to return as the hour grows late. We still have almost three hours before two when we have to show up in the square for the reaping but for now make for the Hob. That's where Gale and I take a step back and let Katniss bargain our goods for what we need. She's much better at this then us. Once that's done, with time to spare, we split the goods between the three of us evenly and go our different ways.

"See you in the square." I wave in goodbye

Gale huffs but returns my wave, "As if I don't see you enough."

Katniss merely nods.

My forage bag which was empty this morning now holds a squirrel, two fish, four loaves of good bread, greens, salt and two new candles. Its weight against my back is comforting, grounding even. It makes me walk faster to get back home and show Dad and Grandmother what I've got.

At home, Grandmother is awake, sitting on the couch, already dressed for the reaping, snowy hair hidden by a colored scarf. I smile warmly and set the bouquet of wildflowers I gathered in her arms as Dad hops from the bathroom on his crutches. He's wearing a clean, white shirt and a pair of khaki pants. The fabric of the left leg flutters from the thigh down hugging thin air.

Dad's cleaner than he's been in a while, having shaved his beard and cut his messy, curls. He looks younger and handsome.

"Running late, aren't we?" Dad raises one sooty eyebrow as he takes out the pipe I'd carved for him on his birthday last year and takes a sit "Well get going, we don't want to be late, do we?"

I move to the bedroom I share with grandmother where the tub of lukewarm water waits me and scrub my skin pink, before putting on my best dress. A faded, green thing that buttons from the waist up and gives the impression of a two-piece thanks to its pleated skirt. The only shoes I can pair this with are my school ones which I take great pains to keep in good shape, but still have to change them once a year, sometimes twice.

After I'm dressed, I run a brush through my hair and leave it down, simply placing a thin, black headband for aesthetics purely as I don't have a fringe. Finished and with time to spare I join Dad and Grandmother in the kitchen/living room where we eat two slices of bread each and some leftover cheese from last night. Grandmother's squirrel stew is cooking on the stove, but that we'll keep for tonight.

Maybe I'll make a visit to Prim later, after the reaping and get us some fresh milk. We haven't had any in a while and I was suddenly craving some. For the time being I'm more than content with the tea made from the raspberries handpicked and dried by my own two hands.

When we're done, I make quick work of the dishes and we set for the square, knowing that it would take us more time to get there. I don't mind the longer walk. In fact a very big part of me wishes it wouldn't end. The rest just wants to get this done and over with, to return to our tiny home tonight and enjoy the squirrel stew with my family.

When we finally arrive in the square people have already started filling in. Grandmother kisses me sloppily on each cheek and I have to stop my hand from rubbing my cheeks, but Dad only gives me a terse nod and I try to smile at him. Dad's never really been a touchy-feeling person. He's not cold, just doesn't know how to express his feelings. Maybe that's another reason why mother left.

I sign myself in and get in line with other fifteen years-old from the Seam. The temporary stage set up in front of the Justice Building, holds three chairs, two already filled, a podium and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girl. My eyes flit over the paper slips in the girl's ball where my name is carefully written on sixteen slips and I suddenly feel both cold and hot, and a _heaviness _settles in my stomach.

Taking a deep breath, I look at the newest escort of District 12, a woman with blue hair pulled high atop her head in a bun, decked in a golden suit trimmed with dark blue at the hems and collar. Her skin is a white so pure I've never seen before. Not even in winter is snow as white as her skin.

Just before the clock strikes two, Haymitch sashays on the stage, clothes rumpled, bottle cradled in one hand. He practically collapses on his chair, just as Mayor Undersee rises to give the annual speech. My gaze moves around the many heads around me and I tune out the words I've been hearing for years, patting my clammy hands against the fabric of my dress as discreetly as possible.

When the Mayor reads the two victors our District produced, my eyes star to burn. Thankfully it's not enough to gather tears. The crowed responds with applause when Haymitch's name is read, but he doesn't react, just takes another drag from his bottle. Than the Mayor introduces District's 12 newest escort, Effie Trinket who gives her own speech. Her thick Capitol accent brings a smile to my lips.

As she wraps up her speech Effie finishes with "Ladies First!" and moves to the girl's ball where her hands dig around, before she pulls out one slip of paper.

Where my stomach should be there's suddenly a void, as if it had fallen to my feet and I feel the acrid taste of bile at the back of my throat. Effie moves back to the microphone and I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself as she opens the slip and reads the name in a clear voice.

Laurel Duncain.

It's my name she calls.


	2. Chapter Two: Abandon All Hope

**Chapter Two: **

**Abandon All Hope**

* * *

My earliest memory is from when I was three and a half, maybe four. That's when I started remembering things that didn't really make sense either, a different life, a different family, a different name. When comparing those memories of a world where you had the freedom to say what was on your mind, unafraid of the consequences, to the oppressive suffocation that is the Capitol's rule, you start to feel cheated. And the first few years that was exactly how I felt, robbed of a better life.

The older I got, the more memories of that world I could remember. Soon enough I realized that even that world had its own problems, that the person I was before was someone who hadn't had it any easier in life. But _Before Me_ had had things I could only dream. She had her parents, a younger sister, and a beautiful home. She didn't have to worry about providing for her family, about what they were going to eat the next day, about being reaped to die for the entertainment of the Capitol citizens.

I make my legs move, trying to keep my face blank, as I slowly step up the stage, where Effie Trinket's face splits in a scary smile, purple lips stretched widely. She rests a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face the crowd.

There's a sudden ringing in my ears as I look around trying to spot a familiar face. I see Katniss, expression as blank as possible, but her lower lip trembles now and then and she squints as if she has something in her eyes betraying her true feelings. Gale stands a few feet to her left, his face dark, and I wish I could turn back to this morning where it was just as three and the freedom of the woods.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our girl tribute, Laurel Duncain! Let's have a round of applause," Effie claps lightly alongside the audience's token applause and I'm thankful to see that Katniss and Gale don't join in "And now our boy tribute…"

Effie steps to the other ball, picks a slip of paper after some careful digging and smoothes it open "Garric Perthshire!"

Thankfully the name doesn't ring any bell and I watch a lanky boy make his way to the stage. He has the typical Seam look: black hair, olive complexion and grey eyes. We must contrast nicely since I don't look like I'm from the Seam. My hair is a brownish-blonde, my skin is quite light with a rosy undertone and my eyes are brown.

My looks have been the subject of conversation and gossip for the people of the Seam ever since my mother's affair came to light. Most of them concern my resemblance, or lack thereof, to my Dad. Dad never dignified anyone with a response. As far as he is concerned I am his daughter and he is my father.

I turn my attention back to the boy who despite his tall height can't be older than thirteen, maybe fourteen. His shoulders are curled forward in a hopeless gesture and I can see that he's resigned already to his fate. In District 12 tribute is another word for dead.

The Mayor steps up, congratulates us and starts reading the Treaty of Treason. All the while I can't wait for this dreary ordeal to be finished.

I don't know how long I can keep the tears at bay.

* * *

Once the treaty is read, Garric and I shake hands and we wait for the anthem of Panem to finish before the Peacekeepers usher us inside the Justice Building for the allotted hour all tributes get to say goodbye to their loved ones. We're each given different rooms and I don't have to wait much before the doors open again.

Dad and grandmother are my first visitors. I sit next to Dad and curl into his side, closing my eyes and trying to commit to memory the smell of coal, soap and musk that is his, the steady war-drum that's his heartbeat. Grandmother pats my hair, the gesture soothing and comforting. When I was little and the memories of _before _became too overwhelming, grandmother was the one who'd rocked me and held me close. Now however, the feeling of her wrinkled hand has me gritting my teeth. How were they going to last without me? The goods I'd brought home today would keep them going for a week, maybe a bit more if they stretched it.

As if sensing where my thoughts were going, Dad kisses my brow "Don't worry about us, sweetpea. We'll manage somehow, alright? You worry about yourself. You're strong, stronger than you can imagine."

"I'm not that strong, Dad." I mutter and he doesn't say anything else

Sooner than I'd want, the doors open and the Peacekeepers signal our time's up. They move slowly and I take the time to hug them both fiercely, before the door closes. Sinking back into the couch, I bury my face in my hands, feeling the prickle of tears gathering behind my lids. But I can't let them fall. Not yet.

I hear the door opening again and look up to see Gale and Katniss. We've never been as close as we could've and a part of me regrets that we'll never get the chance.

They both take a seat on each side of me and I find my mouth moving. I'm asking them to take care of my family as much as possible, to help them anyway they can, not to let them die and they promise me they'll do anything that's in their power, but that doesn't stop the pit inside my stomach from growing.

Gale takes my right hand in his and Katniss my left between her own and we stay like that until a Peacekeeper summons them. Gale gives me a bear hug that lifts me off the ground, but Katniss hug is a surprise, a very welcomed surprise.

My next and last visitor is unexpected. The woman I avoided for so long and didn't want to see, my mother. She's looking beautiful in a soft, billowy white dress, her straw blonde hair pinned in a loose chignon at the back of her neck, but her blue eyes are red-rimmed as if she'd been crying.

We stare at one another for a few seconds, before she moves to the plush chair opposite the couch.

"Sometimes..." she begins before cutting herself abruptly. She takes my hand in hers and places a necklace in my opened palm

From the chain dangles a bird, grasping an arrow between its feet, wings spread as though in flight. It shines like silver, but it can't be. Nickel, maybe? I look up at her, wondering why she'd felt the need to give me this and sensing my confusion or reading it on my features she gives me a watery smile.

"They let you wear one thing from your district, something that reminds you of home. I want you to wear this in the arena."

I look back at the bird, the mockingjay. How fitting a symbol to describe my relationship with mother. She doesn't wait for me to answer, but stands up and makes to go for the door. Halfway she hesitates and suddenly turns around and comes back, bends down to kiss me atop my head and then she's gone, not waiting for our time to be up.

There's still time left before the Peacekeepers come to get us and I take the respite to calm myself so that I won't burst into tears the moment we're moved to the train. I don't want to give the cameras the satisfaction of televising my tears. I don't want to give them anything else besides what I was already giving them.

* * *

Effie's a good distraction, chattering endlessly about how fabulous the train is, how amazing everything is even if it's only for a short while and I'm thankful that I don't have to overanalyze my thoughts and feelings. Garric next to me looks pale, his eyes red as if he'd been crying the whole time and my heart squeezes uncomfortably. I wish I was made of sterner stuff, that I could shut off that part of me that sees the little boy and wishes to help him, because at the end of the day there can only be one victor.

At the train station we pose for the cameras for a short while, then we're finally allowed inside the train and it's like we've stepped into a completely different world. A world that I can barely put into words and I wish I had more than one pair of eyes to take everything in. The decorations are exquisite and all of a sudden I feel small, insignificant.

Effie's nice enough and shows us to our rooms and leaves us shortly after, telling us supper is in an hour and that we can do anything we want, wear anything we'd like, that everything in the room is ours.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I let my tears fall and spend the next hour sobbing hysterically, trying not to make too much noise, face buried in a too soft pillow, chocking and sputtering and wishing I was back home.

When Effie comes to round us up, knocking sharply on my door I stop abruptly and go to the bathroom to wash my face. I'm a sight to see, eyes red and puffy, cheeks ruddy and wet, nose running.

After I've cleaned up as much as possible I move to greet Effie and Garric in the hallway. Garric stares but doesn't say anything, for which I'm thankful.

The dining room is as lavishly decorated as the rest of the train and I feel bad all of a sudden that I spent an hour bawling my eyes out instead of washing and dressing into something else like Garric did. But as soon as the thought flits through my mind, I banish it. The smell of wildflowers and coal that cling to my dress are a reminder of home and right now that's what I need.

Supper is served in courses. A thick soup, a sour, creamy salad, potato and cheese stuffed mushrooms, trout that has a hazelnut buttery taste and blueberry coffee cake. I stuff myself and by the time I finally notice Effie's horrified look I'm halfway finished with the meal. Swallowing the mouthful, I raise my eyebrows at her. Garric hasn't even noticed our exchange, too busy eating.

Sputtering in anger and disgust, Effie throws her napkin on her plate and hurries out of the dining room leaving us to wonder what happened, before it hits me and I flush in embarrassment.

"What's her problem?" Garric asks gobbling a piece of cake

"The way we eat, I think."

He nods thoughtfully, slowing his eating somewhat and what's left of supper is spent in each other other's company. Effie returns eventually and graciously accepts our apologies, before we move to another compartment to watch the recap of today's reapings and make note of our future competition.

One by one the names are called, sometimes replaced when someone volunteers and I try to commit as many faces and names to memory as possible. Some of them stand out more than others like District's 4 gladiatrix, a towering figure of muscles, long dark dreadlocks, mocha skin and sharp, sea-green eyes, some of them easily slip out of my mind. When it finally reaches our district I can't help wonder whether we'll be as easily forgotten.

We don't see a speck of Haymitch around and soon after the recap ends Garric and I bid Effie goodnight.

As I get ready for bed, I'm suddenly hit with how unfair everything is. I want to return home to Dad and grandmother, to Katniss and Gale. I don't want to die in this stupid game.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride…" I tell myself burrowing deeper under the soft covers on my bed.

Sleep wasn't going to come easy tonight.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I want to thank everyone who followed and favorited the story so far, you guys made my week and because of that I've decided to put of the second chapter a bit faster than I originally wanted to. I'll try to update weekly, you can expect a new chapter every weekend, can't say exactly whether Sunday or Saturday. If the plan changes I'll let you know but seeing as I've already writing chapter four I think I can keep up this rhythm. Again, I promise nothing. Thank you again guys and I hope you like this chapter, too.

_Disclaimer:_ I own zilch, the exception of course being my OCs.


	3. Chapter Three: Igniting The Fire

**Chapter Three:**

**Igniting the Fire**

* * *

I fell,eventually, into a fitful sleep, from which I kept waking disturbed by things I saw in my dreams, so by the time Effie rapped sharply against the door telling me to get up I was more tired than when I went to bed.

Moving carefully in the gray light of my room I stumble to the bathroom and take a hot shower, letting the water work wonders on my sore muscles, before looking through the dresser. I've never had as many clothes and nothing as pretty as there are here, so for a few seconds I'm at a loss. Finally, I chose a necked, sleeveless white shirt with golden applications along the collar, a pair of loose, black pants and black ballet flats.

As I join the others in the dining car, I'm surprised to see Haymitch there. I'd already half-forgotten that he was our mentor and seeing him, already halfway through a bottle of something or another, only brought back home that in the last twenty-three years no one from our district has won a game. Effie who sits on the other side of the table is slightly red in the face and her lips are pursed as if she'd tasted something bad and even Garric looks uncomfortable. What have I missed?

"Well, well, sleeping beauty finally decides to join us." Haymitch speech is slurred and I'm dismayed that he's already this drunk this early

The expression on my face must look funny from his point of view because he bursts into laughter, throwing his weight against the seat's back and toppling over with a flail of his arms. How the bastard keeps laughing once he hits the floor beats me.

"Take a sit and ignore him." Effie waves me over to the sit on her left and as soon as I'm seated I'm served a bagel sandwich with melted cheese, bacon and egg, a huge pile of fried potatoes and as desert, waffles with cut strawberries and chocolate sauce. I'm more mindful of my manners today, making sure to use both fork and knife, so that I won't upset Effie, as is Garric from what I can see.

Haymitch eventually gets up, but doesn't bother with the toppled chair. Instead he slides into another seat and pours a golden-brownish liquid into a tall glass before he downs it like water. When an Avox moves to serve him another plate of food Haymitch just waves him away and keeps drinking.

I pour a cup of coffee for myself and throw in a few cubs of sugar, sweetening it, and take a big gulp, enjoying the rich taste. Coffee back home is thin and bitter, mostly boiled water since we can't afford enough and when we can it's not advisable to make it very strong, otherwise we'd run out of it very early on. A few sips later, I turn to Haymitch and stare at him until he can't ignore me anymore and turns to me with a frown.

"What?" he snaps, his gaze unfocused

"You're our mentor," he huffs at my words and I take a deep breath before pressing on "You could at least give us something to work with…"

"You want my advice?" he interrupts and from the corner of my eyes I see Garric leaning forward and even Effie's cutlery hovering over her plate as she listens in "And what good would it do you? You think you and orphan boy there have a chance? Let me tell you this: you don't."

An uneasy silence falls over us, before Garric jumps to his feet, his chair crashing into the floor as he leaves the dining car. Even Effie sniffs in disgust as she slowly gets up.

"Maybe we don't…but you could at least try and help us."

I've no appetite anymore and neither can I stand to look at Haymitch. I don't know what I was thinking asking him for help and expecting that he might actually give it. I knew from _Before Me_ that he was going to help Peeta and Katniss, so foolishly I thought he might actually make an effort for me and Garric too. But then again, even if he helped us, only one of us would live. There was no way to pass us as star-crossed lovers like he'd done —like he'll do with Peeta and Katniss.

I lean against a wall, suddenly overwhelmed, and bring a hand to my face to cradle my head in it, breathing harshly as I try not to cry.

It suddenly goes dark as we enter a tunnel and lights are turned on the train.

I move away from the wall to the car where we watched the reaping's recap last night and sink down on the nearest armchair. I don't know how long I sit there but suddenly I hear footsteps and look to the doorway just in time to watch Haymitch run in, slightly out of breath.

"When we pull in, you'll be placed in your stylist's hands. Whatever he or she does, you don't resist it? Okay? You don't resist it."

I nod and watch him disappear just as fast as he came in and it takes a few seconds for my brain to process what he said.

* * *

I've never been tortured before, but after today I can officially say that I know pain. My prep team has been working on me for the past four hours: waxing, plucking, applying red highlights to my hair, turning my nails into perfect squares, painting them bright red and powdering the tips golden and scrubbing three layers of skin until I'm sore and pink.

Tamora, who's in charge of my hair runs her fingers through my wet locks as she blow dries my hair.

Her eyebrows are dyed golden and powdered with sparkles and contrast nicely with her afro-styled, bright teal hair, but what makes her so strange is her weight. She is the thinnest person I've ever seen so I keep turning around to catch a glimpse of her. Her wrists are as thick as my ankles and I'm not exactly what someone can call fat at my one hundred and five pounds. She doesn't appear to be in pain, not that it stops me from wincing every time she moves. I swear I can see her bones breaking at the smallest shift of her body.

"Well, don't you clean up quite nicely" Lucius smiles, bright orange lips stretching and showing his pearly white teeth. He has the most unsettling eyes I've ever seen: big, owl-like and the palest shade of grey. In other words: freaky.

One of the new world mysteries I've stumbled upon, Varro, looks up from where he/she's painting my last nail, shaking his/her asymmetrically chopped purple hair out of his/her eyes to get a better look at me and for the nth time in the past four hours I change my mind about his/her gender. Varro's a she…but he could be a he… I can't make up my mind and the curiosity is killing me, but it's rude to ask him about his/her gender.

"Done and done." Varro says stretching languorously and even his/her voice is androgynous "Oh, I can't wait for Casca to get his hands on you! You'll look ah-meh-zing."

Lucius crosses his hands over his chest "Let's grease her down and call Casca."

Once my prep team is out of the room, I let my shoulders sag and shift around, suddenly uncomfortable with my nakedness. The white room isn't exactly cold, but it sure makes you feel so.

The door opens and a tall, lean man pauses in the doorway, his blue-green eyes assessing me before he finally moves inside.

What's quite surprising about him is that beside the weird hairstyle—an undercut, with the hair at the top kept long, the three piercings in each ear and the plated armored rings ended in claws that cover his fingers and nails entirely…well he's normal. No make-up, no unnatural hair color, no unnatural skin-color. Even the clothes are normal—a golden shirt underneath a black blazer and skin-tight black pants.

"Well, well let's see what I'm given to work with, shall we?" he asks rhetorically, or so I hope, circling me as he hmms, clawed rings trailing over his chin and cheeks "Not bad, I'm surprised you're so voluptuous. Usually people from your district are more on the thin side, but you're breast are big, somewhere between B or C. I'm leaning more towards the latter and your hips are almost proportional with your shoulders. The difference is small …" he suddenly trails off

"How about you put on your robe and we have lunch? You're probably starving by now and my team can sure make you work up an appetite."

I wasn't really expecting someone so chatty, but I didn't say anything as I dressed and fallowed him out. We moved to a plain sitting room and he waves me to my seat, before unbuttoning his blazer and taking his place opposite me. He crosses his legs and links his hands atop his knee after pressing a button that split the tabletop in two, another one rising from below with our food on it.

"Roasted chicken with risotto and caramelized onions as the main course and for desert crème brulee French toast. A nice, light meal so you won't bring the food up later. Not exactly the best way to win sponsors."

I smile at him and when he smiles back I can't help think that he's very handsome.

"Let's dig in as I talk to you about this year's costume. As you know it's customary to reflect your district's… specialization. Well, my partner and I decided that this year we'd show exactly what coal is," I frown at his choice of words, but before I could ask he continues "Now what is coal? Coal is fuel. And what do we do with fuel?"

His smile turned downright predatory "We burn it."

I stared, my food forgotten. Did that mean what I thought it meant?

"You're not going to set me on fire are you?"

Casca looked at me with an inscrutable expression and his gaze held something I couldn't quite put into words.

"No, not quite."

* * *

It wasn't a black, shiny unitard that greeted me on the mannequin, but a dress. A necked, sleeveless thing, its bodice covered entirely by tiny jewels of red, orange, yellow and white, which from the waist down looked like an explosion of embers against the black fabric of the skirt and disappeared entirely at the long trail that would flutter behind me in the chariot. It looked like a fire at night with crackling embers flying about. It was perfect, unforgettable but not Girl on Fire material and the fear that had gripped my heart lessened.

After I was dressed and my legs fitted into knee-length, zip-up boots with five inch heels because as Casca put it "You're kinda on the short end of the stick, darling." I was ready to meet up with Garric who wore a costume from a material mimicking cracked coal, black but fading to dark grey from the waist down. He's theme as far as Viola, his stylist, told us is supposed to mimic coals cooling after the fire has been put out.

Garric seems excited, if a little nervous, going by his shy, crocked smile.

"Did Haymitch come see you before we arrived?" is his greeting to me and I nod, smiling, glad that I was wrong about our mentor

"He did."

Chaos reigns around us as the other tributes get ready for the parade, their colored stylist flitting about making last minute check-ups to their costumes. District 12's usually black chariot has been sparsely embellished with tiny jewels like the ones decorating my dress and so have the horse's hooves from what I can see.

The doors of the hangar we're in open and the world is suddenly that much louder and colorful. District 1's chariot leaves in a trail of silver and dust and the crowds lining the streets go wild.

"Someone's looking your way." Garric mutters next to me, and I turn to him before fallowing his flitting gaze to the Amazon of District 4

She is by far the tallest contestant this year, towering over everyone at 6'6". Her dreadlocks have been piled into a beehive atop her head and she's been dressed with a golden fishnet, draped over her right shoulder and knotted around her waist. The fishnet has been hitched on her right side so that it exposes a long, sculpted leg clad in a knee-high, leather sandal.

She looks deadly and stunning, a female Poseidon risen from the seas to unleash vengeance on us mere mortals.

My hands shake and I try to hide them from view, but the man standing next to her sees them and smirks. He's the most handsome man I've ever seen, with short curled bronze locks and sharp, sea-green eyes.

"Who's that, next to District 4's tribute?" I ask, lowering my gaze back to the chariot

"Hmm…the one next to Coral, oh, that's Finnick Odair." It's Viola who answers my question, ending her sentence with a giggle and I turn to look at the bubblegum pink-haired woman "He's their mentor and quite the hunk." more giggles

"Woman, you're being silly again." chided Casca, sniffing as he helped me up the chariot arranging my trail

Thankfully, District 4 is next and the Amazon, Coral, is swift to get on their chariot. Outside the sky is slowly losing light as the hour grows late and before we know it we are next.

"Here we go." I nod to myself looking straight ahead as Garric gets in

The horse neigh, stomp their feet and shake their manes as we ride into the dying light of today. The crowd is cheering us as much as the other tributes and all the time I can't help think that I'm not the Girl on Fire, will never be her. And it will probably cost me my life.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Things have been going badly for me lately and I'm suddenly neck deep in shit. Yes, pardon my french. Anyway although I've started chapter four a long time ago I have no idea how to write the interaction with the Gamemakers or how to approach the interview, but I've more or less fleshed out the Games. I can't wait to write Laurel and Garric in the arena. Also it would be very, very nice if I would actually hear your thoughts about the story so far. See you next week. 'Till then.

_Disclaimer:_ I own nada.


	4. Chapter Four: The Final Countdown

_ This chapter is dedicated to my very first reviewer: Estelle Lumene. _

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

**The Final Countdown**

* * *

My sleep is as fitful as my night on the train and the result is that I'm more tired than I've been my entire life. After a shower so hot it can be considered scalding I pick my training uniform courtesy of Casca. Carmine red, skin-tight pants, a necked, long-sleeved, black tunic cinched at the waist with a dark brown belt and knee-high, lace-up boots. Although my hair isn't that long, it still has a tendency to get in my face so I tie it away, in a low ponytail and I'm ready for the day.

The clock on my nightstand reads '5:56' which is too damn early for most people, so I decide to wait until half-past six before leaving my beautiful, lavishly decorated, bigger than my house at home room.

I wonder how Dad and Grandmother are doing and the image of my last visitor pops suddenly in my mind much to my annoyance.

Mother remarried soon after she left Dad and went to have kids with _that man_. I had avoided all sort of contact with her and my step-father, even more so after they had my step-brothers, but even then that hadn't stopped my curiosity. The eldest, Septimus, was eleven years-old and the other, Gedeon was only seven years-old.

If something else changed, next year Septimus might be in Garric's place—in Peeta's place— and even though I've never talked with him the idea that he could be here, in the games, makes me nauseous.

I glance at the clock and decide that I can't wait until half-past six. The dining room thankfully isn't empty, two Avox stand near a board holding more than twenty plates full of all sort of delicacies. I pick a plate, shooing one of the Avox when he wants to serve me and load it with croissants, chocolate bread, scones with cherry jam and butter as well as two bagel sandwiches, one with chicken, egg and salad and the other with cream cheese and lox.

I try to pace myself, eat slowly but since there is no Effie to see me, I end up eating faster and messier than I intended. After wiping the plate clean, I return for two oranges and a cup of coffee, which I relish, taking my time finishing it. Garric comes in, looking bleary-eyed, just as I finish refilling my second cup of coffee.

He's wearing the same colors as me, but inversed. His shirt is carmine red and his pants are black. I bid him good morning and he mumbles something that might have been a morning, I'm not sure and we keep quiet until he's cleaned off half his plate. By then Garric finally looks somewhat awake.

"Did Haymitch say anything to you?" he asks

"About?"

"Training, what we're going to do…." He trails off at my look and I shake my head

I haven't seen Haymitch since the night before, when he'd drank himself into a near coma. He probably is still sleeping off the effects of the alcohol. Garric's next question rouses me back to reality.

"Then what are we going to do?"

"We're going to go to the Training Centre and train. Do you have any talent that might help you in the arena?" Garric gives me a hopeless look and shakes his head once "Well, we have a week, so you can learn something that can help you. I could teach you how to shoot or how to throw knives, if you want to."

Why was I offering to help my competition? But at Garric's sudden, eager look I found I couldn't regret my offer.

"Would you?"

"Sure, just not immediately. You'll have to learn a few things about edible plants and I want to teach you how to make traps and how to build a fire, we'll focus on this today and get you started on shooting with a bow tomorrow. How does it sound?"

The look of worship Garric bestows on me makes me think of a small puppy wagging his tail in happiness. Really, what is it with this kid?

"Thank you." the words freeze my cup halfway up to my mouth "I mean I know we're supposed to be enemies and fight each other, but I'm glad we don't have to. I mean I…sorry I'm not very good with words." he finished, cheeks flushing red

"S'okay, neither am I, but I get what you mean."

Maybe I should be weary of Garric that he so easily won me over, except that the look in his eyes hasn't changed since he's been reaped. He still looks like someone who knows his end is coming soon and who has already resigned himself to his fate.

"It's a plan, then." I say, finishing my coffee before moving to the living room to watch whatever was on

Garric joins me after he's finished, two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in his hands and gives me one before sitting on the floor, back against the couch. At my look, he merely shrugs.

"S'not very comfortable. Too soft."

I nod and don't say anything else. We watch TV until ten when Effie arrives wearing a blazing orange wig, a long-sleeved, cinched at the waist, mint-blue dress and a pair of strappy, dark orange high-heels.

"You look nice" I couldn't help say because she actually looks very pretty

Effie stares at me, an eyebrow raised as if she didn't know whether to take it as a compliment or not, before finally deciding I was telling the truth.

"Thank you. Shall we get going, then?"

* * *

I spend our first day of training more or less showing Garric what plants are edible, how to build traps and how to make a fire. To say that the instructors were impressed with my knowledge is an understatement. Unfortunately I also find myself under unwanted scrutiny. The Amazon, Coral seems to never lose track of me, something I'm not really sure how to feel about. What exactly sparked her interest in me? I wasn't that remarkable or unforgettable, nor did I stand out as much as others, so why? What was it about me that had her keeping track of my whereabouts?

The Gamemakers who are present only on our first day don't seem to be watching us too closely. Their attention is captured by the Careers, especially Coral. Some of them notice her interest in me, but most of them don't.

When lunch rolls around, I sit with Garric, although I don't bother with conversation. What could I say anyway?

And it's in this manner that three days pass and before I know it, we are called out for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. Since girl tributes always go after the boys, I am last. Oh, the joy!

By the time it's my turn most of the Gamemakers are bored, had too much to drink and eat and are more than ready to go home. It's not my fault, but it's surely working against me.

I make my ways to the table where they keep the daggers and throw them at the targets, but not at bull's eyes on the human silhouettes. There are eight points in the human body that are fatal and I know they're exact position thanks to _Before Me_. Eight points exactly: the larynx, the spine, the lungs, the liver, the jugular, the artery, the kidney, and the heart. The question whether the Gamemakers know or not remains to be seen.

After throwing eight daggers at one target, I move to the bow section, test one and start shooting arrows at another target, making sure to hit the same places as before. When I'm done, I turn to the Gamemakers and bow, dismayed to notice that not all of them had been paying attention. Once, I'm dismissed, I place the bow and quiver back on the table and make my way to the elevator.

* * *

Effie and Haymitch are waiting for me in the sitting room with Garric who is as white as a sheet. A part of me wishes to simply disappear into my room and spend the rest of the night sleeping, but I don't. Instead I force myself to move towards them and sink into a comfy armchair. Why couldn't I have been Katniss? Why couldn't I have been unafraid, ready to challenge the world? Why did I have to be someone who was unimportant in the large scheme of things?

"From your face I can guess it went swell." Haymitch muttered around the rim of his glass, searching my face

Effie sniffed at the older man, the spot between her eyebrows wrinkling as she turned to me "I'm sure you did just fine, Laurel."

"Well, she couldn't have done worse than orphan boy there."

This was the second time Haymitch had said that, but it was only now that I paid attention. So, Garric was an orphan? Said boy seemed to be in his own little world, not having heard our mentor's off-hand insult. He was terribly pale and his hands shook like mad.

"It couldn't have been that bad." I said only to be awarded with a very skeptical look from Haymitch

"We'll see." But he clearly wasn't convinced about Garric's chances

I spent a few more minutes making polite conversation with Effie before going to my room to get washed, trying not to let my mind wonder too many times to the session with the Gamemakers and wishing for at least a score of six.

Effie's the one who comes get me at dinner, but I'm not very hungry. It feels like someone glued my stomach to the back of my abdomen and even if I'd wanted to I didn't think I could eat anything. It's Effie who recommends a salad, the same she's getting since she's on a diet, not that she has any need to lose weight. I tell her as much and she practically preens only to bristle angrily when Haymitch snorts.

What is it with this two, anyway?

After we're finished with dinner, we move to the living room to watch the announcement of our scores. They show a picture of each tribute and underneath flash their scores. The Careers score highest and I'm left reeling to see the eleven underneath the Amazon's picture. I should really stop calling her that, even in my mind, but maybe it's better if I don't think of her as human, but as the gladiatrix she resembles.

District 12 is last and Garric pulls a mere six and he moans, hiding his too pale face in his hands. Then my face flashes on screen and the number eight just below it. My eyes close and I can breathe at last. Effie squeals and hugs me and Haymitch gives me a long, assessing look.

"Hmm," he snorts turning back to his glass "You might actually stand a chance at winning."

* * *

_Author's Note: Yeah, so I've come down with something and I'm running a fever in the middle of my exams, which is awesome. Not. But anyway here's the next chapter, I don't know exactly when I'll post again since I have no idea how to approach the interview. Not that I had any idea how to approach the private session either, but I got tired of rewriting this chapter and I'll leave it like this. If inspiration ever stricks me, I'll revise it, but I somehow doubt that it will._

_I'll try to stick to my self-appointed schedule, but lately I've been bugged by this new plot, another self-insert character, _le gasp_, although its for another fandom, more precisely "A Song of Ice and Fire" and it revolves around this character of mine, who is Lyanna's youngest sister and the story starts a year or two before Robert's Rebellion, goes from there until he wins and Lyanna dies and I wanted to have this character of mine marry Jaime, whose position in the Kingsguard after killing the Mad King is shaky at best, so that she avoids getting stuck in a marriage to Robert. Yeah...we'll see about that too. Anyway, leave a review if you have any ideas or want to tell me something._

_Disclaimer: Me no owns nothin'_


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